


Who needs eyes?

by LaurelSilver



Series: Victimised [3]
Category: Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: Captive, Eye Trauma, Fighting Back, Gen, Gore, Mutilation, Sexual Assault, Suspension, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 21:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14090124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurelSilver/pseuds/LaurelSilver
Summary: "Who needs eyes motherf-ker, I can feel you bleed."Johnny 3 Tears, Dove and GrenadeI watched Highway to Havasu as research for this but I was drunk when I watched it so I don't remember much of it.





	Who needs eyes?

**Author's Note:**

> Names are helpful:  
> Johnny - Johnny 3 Tears  
> Victim - anyone you want it to be. The only requirements are that they have both eyes and both (upper) arms. Beyond that they can be anyone you hate. Call it catharsis. Gender doesn't matter, Victim is referred to as 'it'.
> 
> Just to be very clear;  
> 1\. I have not done, nor do I have any intention of doing, anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fiction.  
> 2\. I don't think Johhny has done, or has any intention of doing, anything described in this fic.  
> 3\. I do not encourage or condone anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fic. Recreating this fic, or anything similar, is illegal and immoral and very fucked up.  
> 4\. You are not obliged to read, finish reading if you start, or comment/kudos if you finish. There is no story here. It just mindless violence for no real reason.  
> 5\. Victim having any similarities to anyone real or fictional is unintentional.
> 
> Reiterated warnings in case you skipped the tags:  
> Eye trauma  
> Sexual assault  
> Johnny gets hurt in this one

Victim pressed harder into the wall as the slow footsteps approached. It clenched the scissors tight in its fist. The lock rattled, the handle turned, and the door almost hit Victim in the shoulder as Johnny shoved it open. He stepped in and the door swung closed behind him. Victim’s chain lay in a pile, empty.

Victim screeched and dove for him, scissors raised. Johnny turned and leapt back, the blades catching his shirt and leaving a pathetic rip. Victim raised the scissors again and swung down. Johnny caught it by the wrist.

The scissors trembled in Victim’s grip. Johnny’s thick fist around its bruised wrist was tight, grinding its bones together. Johnny grinned and squeezed harder.

Victim whimpered and kicked out. Its bare foot connected with Johnny’s knee. Johnny grunted and flinched back, more in surprise than pain, but it was enough.

The scissors seemed to jolt forwards, Victim throwing its whole weight after the little blades. Johnny tried to dodge just a little too late. The blades dug into the top of his nose and across, along his eyelid and temple in one desperate swing.

Johnny howled. Victim stumbled, scrabbled and bolted for the door.

The keys rattled in the other side of the door as Victim pulled it open and ran out. The room beyond was cluttered and insane, doll parts glued to the walls, thin nets hung from the ceiling, the door was a chicken wire gate. Victim dove for it.

Solid arms closed around Victim’s waist and hoisted it into the air. It kicked and screamed, brittle nails clawing at Johnny’s forearms as he carried it back behind the door.

Johnny threw it down and kicked it hard in the back of the head. Victim reeled, head spinning. Johnny’s footsteps echoed, random items rattled, and Johnny hissed. The bloody scissors lay on the floor. Victim slumped down and crawled, reaching for them.

Johnny grabbed it by the hair and dragged it to its feet as it screamed. Blood cascaded from his right eye, already swollen shut, cheek painted crimson. He snarled and the blood was clinging to his teeth. Victim whimpered. Johnny shoved at it and twisted its arms behind it.

He dragged it to the corner and tossed a rope over the rafter. Victim struggled as Johnny wrapped one end of the rope around its arms in a lazy figure-eight and knotted it. The cord tightened on scarred skin as Victim continued to struggle. Johnny pulled on the free end until it was taut, and then heaved it down again.

Victim howled as its arms were pulled up behind it, shoulders forced forwards. Johnny heaved again. Victim rose, toes a full two inches off the floor, shoulders seeming to fold away from its spine. Johnny tied the cord down to the stack of weights. Victim hung there, curled like a comma at the top of its torso, legs flailing as it swung.

Johnny headed for the table opposite and opened the familiar green bag. He pulled out a cotton pad and a bottle, poured a little of the strong liquid onto the pad, and then chugged half the bottle straight down. He pressed the pad to his eye with a growl through his teeth.

Victims whimpered, arms held tense. The thin cord was tight and starting to bite into Victim’s skin. It’s flailing had stopped, swinging slowing, and it spun in a lazy circle.

Johnny sat on the table, pad tossed to the side and replaced with another growl and a “Fuck.” Blood was smeared down his jaw. He pawed through the familiar kit and tossed it to the ground with a snarl. Victim flinched as Johnny jumped up, sending itself swinging again. Johnny didn’t even look at it, storming out and slamming the door behind him.

* * *

There was no way for Victim to tell the passing of time beyond counting its own breaths. It panted in effort, ache set into its stomach and shoulders as it struggled to hold itself up. Its arms were numb, and something warm and familiar was dripping into its hands.

The door flew open. Johnny was leant heavy on the door frame, shoulders hiccuping, and the room filled fast with the reek of booze. He stood tall, and ambled in. His posture was still slouched and his steps were slow and slurred. Crimson still clung to his face and hands. An eyepatch sat over his right eye, a small black thing. Johnny stumbled to a stop face-to-face with Victim. His breath was wet and heavy as a moorland fog with bitter vodka. He raised a hand and flicked the eyepatch up.

The jagged wound trenched into his nose and across to his temple. The sensitive skin had purpled and swollen, eye watering and thinned a trail down the middle of his cheek. His good eye blinked, and the swell twitched with it.

Victim choked and spat at him. The spittle landed on Johnny’s clean cheek and clung there, Johnny not reacting. He raised his hands and settled them comfortably on Victim’s hips like a lover.

Johnny’s grip was heavy, blunt nails digging into Victim’s skin as he pushed down. He grinned, and blood still clung to his gum line. Victim’s toes almost reached the floor.

A sharp pain flared in Victim’s shoulders. Bone ground against bone at an unnatural angle. Victim’s torso curled tighter, and it pulled on the rope holding it up.

Victim howled as its arms ripped out of place. The pain stabbed there in between its shoulder blades and out, along its arms to the elbows and shooting up and down as Johnny let go. Victim stumbled on his feet, still forced upright, arms at a cruel angle to its spine. Its hands numbed and wouldn’t respond as it struggled. More stabs flared in its shoulders as the twisted bones rubbed up on each other.

Johnny raised his hands to Victim’s shoulders. He gripped and rubbed his thick fingers in small circles, massaging the misshapen flesh. Victim sobbed, agony following the soothing circles and layering up over each other.

“We’ve learned a hard lesson today, ain’t we?” Johnny said.

“Fuck you,” Victim hissed.

“Fair enough.”

Johnny let go. He pulled on his eyepatch, organising it over his good eye. The purple eye flickered, thick bloody tears still running down his cheek.

Johnny pawed at Victim, pressing his hands to its chest and running them up, touch softening, delicate. He traced its face, circled its lips and nose and caressed its cheeks. He cupped its face, thumbs running back and forth and up. And up. And up.

Victim screwed its eyes shut as Johnny’s fingers spread into its hair and his thumbs were balanced on its inner cheekbones.

Johnny curled his thumbs. The pads pressed into the corners of Victim’s eyes in a sharp movement. The blunt nails forced their way between Victim’s lids and into the soft wetness. Johnny pressed harder and twisted his hands. Victim howled as its vision reddened, then blackened with a sickening pop. Dense red fluid gushed down both its cheeks as Johnny dragged his buried thumbs, fingers ghosting along its temples until his wrists were practically touching in front of its nose. His thumbnails seemed to scrape against Victim’s sockets.

He pulled out and pressed his large palms to Victim’s slickening cheeks. Blood plasma poured from its broken eyes as it screamed random vowels and flailed, mangled shoulders forgotten below its burning sockets. The agony there stayed still, a constant terrifying throb in its face. Thick phlegm globbed, mixing with blood on Johnny’s fingers, a snotty pink wet.

Johnny’s hands dropped, then his zipper. He grunted as he touched himself, boozed breath hot on Victim’s face. Victim choked and spat in his rough direction.

Johnny stopped. Heavy footsteps circled around and behind Victim. The rope tightened then slackened, and Victim collapsed to its knees. Its arms dropped almost to its sides, twisted lumps in its shoulder making its arms hover out awkwardly.

Victim slumped forwards onto its face. Johnny dragged it back up by its hair. He wiped his hand over its cheek, scooping the wetness into his fingers.

The soft rubbing sounds were close to Victim’s ear, the only sound over it’s whimpering and Johnny’s low grunts.

Johnny groaned. His tip brushed Victim’s cheekbone and Johnny gave a long growl as he came. The familiar salty cum clung to Victim’s brow and eye and dripped down, dense white in the crimson.

Johnny dropped Victim and put himself away. Victim fell heavy on its arms and screamed. Footsteps staggered away, and the door slammed. Victim sobbed and rolled over onto its face. Mixed fluids, all familiar, dribbled into its nose and mouth, salty and metallic and gelatinous.

**Author's Note:**

> Johnny's Swan Songs verses are criminally underrated.
> 
> You **can** drink rubbing alcohol, it's basically swappable with vodka. I wouldn't recommend it though. It's strong stuff, will fuck up your organs and leave you intoxicated for a long time. Bit like vodka does I guess, but worse. Also please don't use vodka as rubbing alcohol unless its an emergency, I am not a medical professional.  
>  Suspension bondage is pretty dangerous. Left too long or badly tied, it can cause dislocations like above, rope-bitten skin like above, or trap nerves, cause severe cramps or even skin tears. I mention this because I see dodgily done bondage in a lot of fanfiction (not just HU, no personal gripes here, I'm generalising) and I just don't want any of you getting freaky then getting hospitalised because of something you read in a smut fic. I do want to do another Victimised fic talking more about bondage and suspension but I'm holding it off for now. Roll on the kinkshaming anyway.  
> Endings are getting difficult now. The only endings I can really have in this series are 'Victim dies' or 'Victim remains captive in agonising pain'. I'm not good at endings.
> 
> Did you pick up on all the H2H references?  
> \- Victim is being held captive in the back of Uncool Ronathan's pad  
> \- Uncool Ronathan's eyepatch  
> \- "Fuck you" "Fair enough" altercation  
> I don't really remember much else, except that the copy I watched had subtitles in a language I couldn't recognise.
> 
> I'd say something about not daydrinking so much here, but I'd only be kidding. I literally have a hangover from daydrinking while I was typing this up. I just really like vodka.  
> Go get a cup of tea, that'll make you feel better.


End file.
